Monday's Sloth
by BeyondtheDarkside101
Summary: Mister Monday hadn't always been slothful... A brief story recounting the Trustees decline into sloth.


Lethargy. It plagued Monday, prevented him from keeping his eyes open in meetings, prevented him from signing documents, prevented him from doing most things, bar sleeping and relaxing in his steam bath. On the rare occasions when he managed to consolidate enough effort to move, he found that his movements were sluggish. Not only his physical movements either – his entire brain felt as though it were wrapped in a wet blanket, the dampness of it sinking into his very being, making him rot from within.

The lethargy was combined with an almost unbearable sense of apathy. When he was awake, and surveying the Lower House, he was drowned in a sense of purposelessness, as though none of it really mattered. The Lower House was nothing like the other regions of the House, all of which had some impact on the way things were run. The Upper and Middle Houses had the records of the living creatures in the Secondary Realms, whilst the Far Reaches provided the supplies which kept the rest of the House in order. All the Lower House did was maintain the records of those in the Secondary Realms that were dead – things that could no longer impact on or be impacted by the machinations of the House and its denizens. So Monday, consumed by a bitterness that gnawed at his soul, had given up on the Lower House, simply preferring to idle away in his bath.

However, it had not always been like this. When the Architect still ruled in the House, he had been a diligent worker – one of the best. He had ensured that everything had run so smoothly and efficiently, he had almost had to request that the other parts of the House hurry up and send him more files and reports to deal with. It had been a happy time, when the Trustees had all worked together, and gotten along. The lower order Trustees – Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, had all been on exceptional terms. The three of them would often meet up outside of the usual Council of the Days, to spar, debate or even simply to watch the workings of the House. Even after the Architect left, and the Will had been broken, the trio had still seen each other, although the new restrictions had made it increasingly difficult to do so.

But when the Will had been broken, something else had also broken - Monday. With the Architect gone, maintaining the records had begun to seem increasingly pointless to the increasingly bitter Trustee. What point could there be, he had wondered, in keeping the records when nobody was around to view them? And so he had begun to let the Lower House, previously unmatched in efficiency, gradually slide into sloth. But even then, with the Will broken and the Architect gone, the Lower House still kept running. It took another event to properly break Monday's spirit, and send him spiralling into his lethargic catharsis.

And it had to do with Wednesday and the Deluge.

Of all the Trustees, Wednesday had trusted Monday the most, even more than Grim Tuesday and Superior Saturday. He also felt a strong bond of affection for the Duchess of the Border Sea. It wasn't a romantic relationship – Denizens couldn't emote in the same fashion as the creatures in the Secondary Realms - but it was an amazingly close friendship. Both had found enjoyment in their roles in their various roles in the House, and both helped to ensure the other was in good shape. He had helped her keep her ever expanding appetite in check, whilst she helped motivate him to stay focussed and energised for his tasks.

So when Saturday came to him, declaring Wednesday a traitor to the House and needed eradication, he had been sceptical. Saturday had ordered that the other Morrow Days (with the exception of Lord Sunday, whom she was speaking on behalf of) come together in a council to bring her to justice. What that meant exactly Monday was unsure of, but something in the way Saturday had orated with such vehemence made him suspect something was hugely amiss.

He had gone to Wednesday (who could barely speak to him anymore, due to the fact that she was constantly gorging herself with food), and had tried to get her to open up about what Saturday wanted. Between mouthfuls, the female Trustee managed to convey that she was intending on surrendering her key and releasing her part of the Will to find a Rightful Heir, which would help re-establish the House to its former glory, as well as possibly curing her of her insatiable appetite. She also let slip that Saturday was in on it as well. Monday had reacted sharply to that, or as sharply as his increasingly exhausted state would allow.

"You told Saturday?" he had asked, his voice slightly less slow than usual, indicating his concern.

Wednesday, midway through a roast turkey, had looked up with a questioning glance.

"She –mm, yes turkey- has invited me to a secret meeting with several of the other Trustees – mmph – and we will be able to approach Sunday and all – oh yes, raspberry sauce – find a Rightful Heir to fix the House," she managed to get out, as she proceeded to finish off the turkey and moved on to a hunk of lamb.

"Is it wise to trust Saturday?" Monday had asked, attempting to give her a meaningful look, although it came across as a simple glance before his head lolled back onto his shoulder.

"Definitely! She's my friend!" Wednesday smiled, then began to devour the lamb at an even faster rate.

"I really wouldn't go to that meeting. Go by the Lower House before hand, we can confront Saturday together; show her that it isn't just you that wants to fix the system," Monday yawned, which proved a fatal mistake, as Wednesday mistook his sluggishness for boredom and lack of interest in her affairs.

"It's alright Monday, you needn't exert yourself. I will call upon you once the meeting is concluded, and we have gained enough strength, we will come and heal you of your apathy," Wednesday said in a kindly, but dismissive fashion. The food on the table was nearly out, and it was looking like Wednesday's attention was no longer focussed on her talk with Monday – indeed she seemed only focussed on eating and searching for more food. Monday took the hint.

"I will take my leave, Duchess," he said formally, except it came out as a slur. Signalling lazily to Sneezer, who had been standing on the edge of the room, he allowed himself to be wheeled out and to the nearest elevator.

He knew that he would never come back to the Border Sea.

He heard about Wednesday's betrayal of course. He had managed to avoid the meeting, citing exhaustion (which was partially true – he had been asleep when the events themselves occurred), but he knew exactly what had occurred. He had been appalled when he heard about what the other Trustees had done to the Duchess of the Border Sea, transforming her into a Leviathan the size of an island. The anger and disgust at the other Trustees and their short-sightedness consumed him for several years. It even caused him to become energetic again, although he was always too distracted to be efficient at maintaining the Lower House.

Eventually however even the fires of rage died within him. In place of the burning desire for revenge, an even thicker blanket of apathy descended upon him, which was joined soon after by an enormous increase in lethargy. The exhaustion that haunted his very being sapped his being further than ever before, and soon he could barely stand moving at all, instead making everything come to him. He was just so tired…

Thus Monday fell into an incurable sloth. His indifference increased so much that he simply stopped seeing the officials, and stopped signing the papers that kept the Lower House in working order. His laziness even affected his mental state – although he was intelligent and quite cunning, he could no longer be bothered to solve problems, leaving everything to the silver-tongued Noon and the other Times of Day. In time even his memory became a burden – he couldn't be bothered trying to rouse himself into anger anymore, so why waste time with pesky memories at all? And so he forgot all but the essential aspects of his being, and the importance of the Keys and the Will.

So it was unsurprising when one day Sneezer, whom Monday had long ago given up telling to maintain a sense of decorum and decent presentation, came into the Steam Room in Monday's Ante-chamber with a plan.

It took Monday a little while to bring himself to listen to what Sneezer was burbling about.

"What was that?" Monday slurred, the words barely managing to make it out of him. So much effort wasted on speaking.

"I said, sir, I think I have found a way around that pesky Will nonsense. There's a mortal boy on Earth, in the Secondary Realms, who fits the criteria for you to temporarily surrender the Key to," Sneezer repeated, whilst starting to wheel Monday's bath-chair towards the Seven Dials.

Monday would have nodded, if he had the inclination to do so. "What's this mortal's name?"

Sneezer glanced quickly at the almost sleeping Trustee, before turning his attention back to the Seven Dials.

"Arthur Penhaligon," the servant said, and twisted the final dial.


End file.
